


Too Hot To Handle (By Anyone Else But You)

by phalangewrites



Category: Fantastic Four (Movies 2005-2007), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Human Resources, Idiots in Love, Missions, Reader Is A Glorified Babysitter, Reader is so done, Slow Build, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 12:03:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14954333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangewrites/pseuds/phalangewrites
Summary: Reader was ready to retire early after her stressful job at Stark Industries, but Dr. Richards had a once in a lifetime job opportunity which had her back in the game again...but this time, as a personal assistant. To the literal Hot Mess™ Johnny Storm.





	Too Hot To Handle (By Anyone Else But You)

**Author's Note:**

> For a lovely on Wattpad.

It is a fact, universally acknowledged that Johnny Storm must not be allowed to be alone when there’s a camera nearby. He used to be better, but, as time passed, he’d become increasingly of a show off to the masses watching the footage.

The first time was at a monster car rally in Pennsylvania, where he shot flames out his hands and nearly blew up an expensive car’s fuel line. The second time was when he was being interviewed in Rhode Island after the Fantastic Four’s win against one of Namor’s underwater foes, and almost spilled top-secret team information to the world.

There has not been a third occasion, because ever since the last incident, Sue and Richard hired you to work alongside the team as a sort of P.R. assistant-slash-Johnny monitor. You used to work in human relations at Stark Industries, but that position was too stressful to keep up, and on the cusp of your early retirement you were scooped up by Dr. Richards and employed to work with the Fantastic Four. Apparently, Mr. Stark had given Dr. Richards an excellent recommendation of you, but you’d only ever met Mr. Stark twice, and you doubted you were even excellent at all.

But that was all two weeks ago, and the past is in the past: especially when you’re chasing around the twenty-seven-year-old Human Torch. Today you’re _literally_ chasing him, because for some reason, the guy doesn’t want to play by the rules (a regular occurrence for him), and you have been pursuing the man for hours in a game of cat-and-mouse around the city.

You’d quit right now, if working for Dr. Richards and Mrs. Storm wasn’t the opportunity of a lifetime.

Near-winded, you lean against a lamp post, trying to catch your breath. Johnny skittles ahead, but realising you’re not following backtracks like an awry kitten playing with its elder, or a child testing the limits of your patience.

“Don’t tell me you’re already tired,” he calls out, grinning.

You know he’s only mocking you because you have no heroic qualities in you at all. You’re not smart, or fast, or very good-looking, but then again, he’s all of that, and still an ass.

You narrow your eyes. “Tired?” you huff, slowly walking toward him with legs that feel like jelly, “Whatever gave you that idea?”

He chuckles, the tips of his fingers and ends of his hair warming with the familiar glow of the Human Torch. You’re both in the streets of downtown Manhattan, and while he’s a legal superhero who does good for the city, there are lots of people on the streets, and if he goes into full _Torch_ mode, someone’ll get hurt.

“Hey, are you the Human Torch?” a guy calls out, camera phone out already.

Johnny grins a wicked smile, and then his whole left hand is in flames as he waves to the guy. “Yeah, the one and only!” he says, with a cheeky wink. “Do you want to have a picture together?”

The guy with the camera nods. “Y-yeah! Um, babe, can you take the photo?” The guy asks his girlfriend, whose painted nails and on-display rack dance as she takes the phone from him.

You take this opportunity to scout the surroundings. Not too far away from your feet is a small barrel that’s collecting drain water. The New York tourist who’s getting his picture taken with Johnny are only a few feet away, and judging on how many people are between you and him –

Johnny’s whole body erupts into a pillar of flame.

You grab the barrel, and, barrelling toward him, slam dunk the water all over him. Then again, you were never good at running, or, carrying heavy items, and instead of heaving the barrel’s contents _only_ over Johnny, it gets over the tourist, his girlfriend, and yourself. Johnny’s hoodie is sopping, his skin sizzling, the droplets of water turning into steam.

“UGH!” the tourist’s girlfriend whines. “My shoes!”

Johnny turns to you, expression at first upset. But he must see your expression, and if what you feel is anything to go by for your levels of anger, you must look pretty pissed off. He apologises to the two, and silently, follows you back to the building where he escaped from in the first place.

It isn’t until the last crosswalk to the entrance he breaks the streak of silence, and with puppy-dog eyes that could fool anyone but you, he says, “You’re going to tell Sue about this, aren’t you?”

If you were half the angry ball of rage you thought you were, you’d retort _you bet your ass I’m telling Ms. Storm about this, and Dr. Richards, too! You’re three years off thirty, and you’re still acting without regard for anyone around you –_

But you’re not a ball of rage. You’re _________. The personal assistant assigned to Johnny Storm, former manager of human resources to Stark Industries, and as angry as you feel, damn it, you’re a professional, and there’s no way you’d just blow up.

“You need to think before acting,” you say to him, as the crosswalk symbol turns green. He nods. Someone who passes the opposite direction recognises his face and calls out his name. Johnny keeps walking. “How long have you been the Human Torch, Mr. Storm?”

He winces at _Mr. Storm_ , but responds, “Four years.”

You take a deep breath. “If you get your act together in the next month, then I will not tell your sister, and my superior, about this potentially hazardous accident today.” You say, pushing open the bottom floor door for the building. “You’re lucky their phone was destroyed by the water, or you’d have evidence on your hands.”

He chuckles. “Perhaps you do have good aim,” he says, nudging your side.

You huff and keep on walking to the elevator in silence.

* * *

Ben Grimm is the last to board the aircraft, and then, everyone is buckled in.

It’s a new development, joining the team on missions, but then again, so is your pilots licence, and it helps to have the whole team on the ground, and you taking control of the cockpit when it’s a particularly hectic mission. Not every villain is out to fight the X-Men, or the Avengers, or even the Revengers. Sometimes bad guys name-called the Fantastic Four, and it was go time, even if you were halfway through an incredible bacon sandwich, or on your way to the fifth failed date of the week.

You didn’t have a suit, of course – you just wore your favourite jeans, and a sweatshirt that had the words _one fear_ written on it, and with all the team on board, you propelled the jet toward the GPS location punched in.

“Alright, here we go,” you say over the comms.

Glancing to Dr. Richards in the back of the aircraft, you hand him over to the main line to explain the mission to the team. Soon enough, you’re switched back into the loop, and overhear the chatter between Sue and Ben. They’re talking about the last date Ben was on, with a nice girl you didn’t quite catch the name of. Dr. Richards weighs in on it, adding an anecdote that you’d only get if you were there at the time. You note that Johnny is quiet, but you suspect it’s because of something brought up while you weren’t privy to the mission briefing.

You pay attention to the surroundings, making sure the plane doesn’t hit any awry trees as you fly further north. You hardly notice Johnny clambering his way into the second pilots’ chair, and fiddling with his comm, the sounds of the others’ conversation disappears.

You glance to him and switching the plane to autopilot, you say, “You’re awfully silent today, something on your mind?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. A lot, I guess…” he frowns, and adds, “Did you ever tell Sue about…you know, that time? In Manhattan?” He asks.

You shake your head. “Negative, Storm.” You pause, and go on, “it wasn’t my place to tell her. I mean, it was an averted crisis, and you didn’t act out afterwards, so there was nothing to tell.” You look to his sister, Sue, who sits beside Reed, hand on his knee, head leaning on his shoulder. “You know, Johnny, I’m not a terrible hard-ass babysitter all the time. I’m a fun person.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Fun? You?” He chuckles over the comms, “_________, when was the last time you had fun?”

You go to retort, but you pause. It’s then you realise how hard you’ve been working, for the last six months for the Fantastic Four, and for the five years prior that when you were putting out fires for the PR disaster of a man named Mr. Stark. And before that, you were at college, and before that –

“_________?” he asks.  

The GPS _beeps_ , and pressing the comms onto the one line, you announce to everyone that they’re a mile from the drop-off location for the incident at hand. Johnny looks at you, expecting an answer, but it isn’t until they’re all poised to exit the plane, parachutes on, when you respond to his comm.

“Flame on, Johnny.” You tell him.

As he jumps, you’re sure you can hear laughing.

* * *

You’ve been trying out different ways to relax. Ever since that encounter on the plane two months ago, you’ve been taking time out of every month for yourself, regardless of duty, or, professionalism. You’re sure the team are dismayed you’re not around more often to pick up their takeout or take out the trash, but it’s nice to take care of yourself.

You invest in nice shampoo, and stick to a care routine for your skin, your body. You join a gym in Hell’s Kitchen where you go to town on the boxing bag every Thursday night, and every Friday, you meet at the Chikara Dojo to try and centre yourself. Sometimes, afterwards, you either take yourself to the supermarket and buy a nice bottle of sparkling apple juice, or, go with friends for drinks to a bar of their choosing.

When you go to work, you’re there from nine o’clock, and when it’s five, you always go home, and never take it back with you to your tiny apartment. You start greeting the mail carrier when he comes every morning, and the door attendant, too. You’re more productive too – you’re almost an ace pilot by the time the next year rolls around, having dodged more than enough projectiles from villains in mid-air, and whenever the team needs a press release or help scripting a speech for the masses for televised events, the words just come right out.

And, surprisingly, throughout all of this, Johnny stays out of trouble.

It’s two days until the weekend halfway through February when you confront him on this. Dr. Richards and Ms. Storm are hosting an engagement party in the main area of the building in a day, and you’ve been working hard to get the place ready to be decorated for the event. There’s an order of decorations due any minute, and the DJ is setting up the music player by the window, and the caterers are in the kitchen.

You’re in between tasks, and it’s then when you let out a heavy breath and settle on a crate.

“Busy?” he says, sitting on the floor in front of you.

Johnny Storm, as always, looks like an Adonis. His hair perfectly just so, eyes glinting in the light with the right amount of trouble, wearing the clothes which the tabloids dub him the ‘hottest superhero’, pun intended. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of him in a way beyond the workplace, but even when you’re in this phase of your life away from professionalism, you assumed that you’d never date someone you worked with.

“No, I’m superb.” You reply, chuckling. It’s Thursday, and you’re itching to throw all your frustrations into the boxing bag at Fogwell’s. “You look like a picture from above. Let me guess, a date this afternoon with someone famous, or rich?”

He shakes his head. “No, I haven’t asked her yet.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t it a bit late to ask now?” you question.

He shrugs. “I hope not. But then again, she’s always busy.”

“Well, she’d be an idiot if she turned you down,” You proclaim, sliding your pen onto the top of your clipboard. “You’re a superhero, for goodness sakes, you fight evil. Do it, there’s no harm in asking.”

Johnny nods, looking at his hands. You notice that Ben’s in the corner, listening to some music on a Walkman. Sue and Dr. Richards are still out somewhere in the city for a public appearance thing. You try to think about what you’re supposed to do if the decorations for the engagement party don’t appear on time, but Johnny interrupts your train of thought.

“Do you want to hang out tonight?” He says.

You blink. Then, before you can stop yourself, you say, “I’m going to the gym.”

He nods. “Oh.”

You quickly add, “Do you want to come with me? There’s some nice takeout stores near Fogwell’s, or –,”

Johnny speaks up, “I’d love to come with you to the gym.”

You beam. “It’s a date, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Buy me [ko-fi](https://www.ko-fi.com/M4M3P4NJ)?
> 
> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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